


Weight

by ThatSassyCaptain



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode Related, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSassyCaptain/pseuds/ThatSassyCaptain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Best supported if shared. A friendship in three parts, consisting of episode wrap-ups. [Cross-posted from FFN]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically and excuse for me to angst everyone in a round-robin angst wheel. :)

_The Man Trap: Jim_

 

It was dead and that was the end of this. Jim heaved a sigh of relief. It had been painful- he'd never tell a soul but those few seconds had been _agony_ \- and now it was over. They'd get a Security team in here ASAP to clean everything up and-

The phaser dropped onto the carpet. Jim listened as the sounds in the room quieted to a whisper. He could hear the air circulating, a wisp on the edges of tables and knick-knacks. There was a shuffling, too, where Spock was trying to pick himself up off the floor.

And Bones- Jim's thought process ground to a halt. The Doctor had both hands braced against the wall. A tremor was working its way through his legs, and his gaze was locked on the body. _That's right. It's dead, and that means she's dead for certain. Oh, Bones…_

Jim pulled himself upright. McCoy didn't move and inch. That wasn't very reassuring. He was relieved to see Spock up and at 'em, though. It was bad enough that the monster had clocked his First Officer once already. Any additional injuries he had sustained would be worrisome indeed. Spock nodded once and Jim knew everything was going to be fine. He'd witnessed many a song and dance on the marvels of Vulcan self-healing, but Jim was more partial to honesty. Spock said he was fine. Jim would trust him.

McCoy however did _not_ look fine. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and his eyes were glassy. Jim's heart rate picked up. It wasn't right, Bones looking like that. The Doctor had been in high spirits, Jim remembered in his mind's eye. The two pictures did not align. He couldn't stand the scene before him, not the so-called resolution to their problem.

"I'm sorry, Bones." He said it once, and he'd be saying to over and over in any language he could pull off. Staggering slightly, Jim crossed to the wall where McCoy was perched. Slowly, carefully, he took a hold of his friend's arm. Jim could feel the muscles flinch even when McCoy showed no other signs of movement. That, and he noticed just how warm the Doctor was.

"Spock," Softly. McCoy had the look of a rabbit in an open field, nowhere to run, no cover. "Spock, is there a hand scanner on the desk?" There was, and he knew it. The Doctor's hammering heart needed no reason to shift into a higher gear. Jim kept his voice soft and his touch gentle as he reached for McCoy's other shoulder. Bones wasn't responding to any of it- which was reason enough to be concerned- but just in case…

"I have it, Captain." Spock, bless him, kept his voice low. The way he carried the scanner didn't look right, but Jim was going to take this crisis one problem at a time. They should be confined to Sickbay, all three of them, but until they knew Bones was stable Jim wasn't going to risk it. He glanced at Spock's arm before nodding.

"If you'd be so kind." He ran his thumb in little circles on McCoy's arm. The Doctor's breathing was becoming more ragged. Something in the wall clicked. The air settled heavily on the three of them.

"It is not…" Spock began before glancing at McCoy. "It is not what I would have expected to see, Captain."

"Oh?" Involuntarily, Jim tightened his grip.

"No. I would suggest… That we take care of this elsewhere. The readings indicate more medication than is necessary, as well as… Lingering effects." Spock had picked up on the code. Every second that ticked by meant the hitch in McCoy's lungs became more pronounced. The moisture on his face drained toward his chin in two even streaks.

Jim let the pang in his heart chart his course. "Go ahead, Spock. Clear the hall."

There was infinite understanding in Spock's expression. It gave Jim pause for just a second. Spock- dare he say it- empathized. That churned the broiling in his stomach, made his lungs a fraction tighter. They were a new crew, but what they had seen already…

He eased McCoy off the wall and into his arms. The Doctor all but collapsed. Jim knew Spock didn't make mistakes, but he didn't like they way his facts made themselves clear. He knew he'd be feeling it soon, the effects of the salt drain, but right now he had a job to do. Jim was responsible for this next part. He was the Captain. No one could carry this but him.

Bones was shaking. Jim supposed it was better that the Doctor had little awareness. He hoped he'd never have to do this again, to _never_ have to carry his insensible friend to Sickbay. The Doctor was proud, but more than that he was hurting so deeply. Jim tried to write it off as exhaustion on his part. He was the Captain. The philosopher in him pointed out he was human as well. The duality had him straddling the line constantly. His duty or his self, when they didn't happen to coincide.

But, he could do this. Jim could tell Spock's arm would be out of commission in some capacity. It was only _logical_ that he should take care of this.

Nurse Chapel was waiting for them in the emptied Sickbay. They'd decided to bury Dr. Crater on the planet. Not that the poor man would've been witness to any of this. It was a horrible business.

Bones was still unmindful of the events unfolding as Jim set him down on the biobed. He had his fists clenched in the fabric of Jim's shirt, but nothing else had changed. It seemed he'd shut down. With Spock's readings, well, Jim couldn't blame him. He still saw the look on McCoy's face: ' _Lord forgive me'_. The Doctor fired again. Jim wished it could have been him. If he could offer his friend one small mercy…

"Who gave him this?" Chapel was looking at the biobed readout. "He never takes the stuff, let alone more than one…"

"How many?" Jim asked without taking his attention from his friend.

"At least four."

Four. Jim, with all his migraine trouble, never took more than three. He, a seasoned medicator with somewhat of a tolerance to boot, never took more than three. How had Bones come to four?

"Security, report to Doctor McCoy's quarters." Spock's voice echoed in the empty space. "The creature has been killed. Please remove the body to the planet's surface." Spock turned and met Jim's questioning gaze. Obviously, the Captain couldn't tear himself away. It went without saying. Spock would attend to it.

"Make sure to come back here afterwards. I don't like that arm."

"Affirmative, Captain."

Chapel was back with another hypo. "He needs fluids. I can't tell if he's been drained or how much. Those pills sure did a number…"

It was more than the drugs, Jim knew. Bones had been lulled with the same song that had pulled Dr. Crater under. It stood to reason that McCoy would be fuzzy when Jim came barging in. The Doctor had realized. He had fired twice.

Jim heard the hiss of Chapel's hypo, but he didn't register what it meant until after the body in his arms went limp, until after that first wave of panic hit in his chest. He released the breath he'd hastily sucked in. Gently, he laid McCoy down.

Spock returned before Jim realized that time had passed. His First Officer carried half a glass of water.

"A hypothesis, Captain." He explained. Softly still, Jim noticed, even though Bones was out. "If I may?" Spock knew he had yet to be checked over. Jim was going to let it slide. While he knew the problem existed, just this once.

"Do it."

And it didn't take long. "Two capsules dissolved in the water-"

"Two the regular way. All at once." Jim ran a hand through his hair. "She didn't want him waking up while she was parading around in his skin."

Spock didn't nod. Something shifted in his eyes. "Indeed."

"How about we get than arm checked. And your head too." It only just occurred to him. Spock had been decked by what added up to McCoy, then had to force the Doctor to act out of a drug-induced stupor. Those eyes stayed as they were. Jim had not known them long, but he knew there was no resentment there. The eyes spoke volumes.

Chapel returned to handle Spock's treatment. Jim parked himself between the two biobeds. McCoy's face lay slack to his right, Spock's stood impassive to his left. He could not come up with two braver faces, not among his old classmates or acquaintances. How lucky was he to have friends like these.

 

* * *

 

_Amok Time: Bones_

 

His whole world was ending in fire and blood. The audience was silent, so the wind helped the rocks howl for death. Each of the bells rang out clear and sweet, mocking him. This was the soundtrack for his best friend's demise.

McCoy had been fenced in behind the guards already. There had been a blade at his throat. They would kill him. Vulcans, preachy like no other about the merits of logic, would kill him where he stood if he interfered again. That didn't matter so much. He didn't know what he would do if either combatant met a similar fate.

After he'd grown accustomed to the fury on Spock's face, McCoy started to think. He still shook the memory of the threat: _I shall certainly break your neck._ It had been growled. That wasn't what he was dealing with. Inside it all was Spock, the Spock they'd come to know over the course of many adventures. Somewhere inside was the man who would do anything for Captain and crew. If only he would remember…

Now he could see everything clearly. He watched the sand slip from Spock's shoulders as the blade arched downwards. McCoy could scream, but what good would it do now?

The blade impaled sand. His knees went weak with relief. Now was his chance, before they got on with the rest of it. Before the next round started. He had only his wits. His wits, and a hypo most potent. Vulcans did not lie, and therefore wouldn't be on guard for his deception. He'd given them no reason to think he'd be playing this any other way than honest. They'd take his emotional outbursts and dismiss them. Who was he, after all, to disrupt the sacred _cauliflower_ , or whatever they called it? He dispensed the neural paralyzer without a shred of guilt. McCoy would do it again if offered the chance.

And then it was a whirlwind. He hardly needed to concentrate; his anxiety fueled his deception all the way back to the ship. He and Chapel had to work quickly. McCoy feared for Spock as much as he feared for Jim right now. If the hobgoblin came back to Jim, dead on a biobed… McCoy shuddered to even think of it.

But, the moment his friend's eyes fluttered open, McCoy's heart leapt for joy. _He lives. He lives, and all is well!_ Had Spock not been due to arrive any moment, McCoy would've stayed right there. He knew the Vulcan would be in shock, believing full well he'd just killed someone.

Beyond that, it'd have been a sight to see McCoy cradling what Spock thought must be Jim's lifeless body. It would've been written off as emotionalism. It would've twisted the knife. He had patched Jim up as quickly as he was able, lest Spock walk in to anything less than Jim at his most lively.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the main doors swoosh open. Could be anybody, but he knew deep down it was Spock. So great was the news that he'd even tried to break it quietly. Teasing aside, his heart soared with Spock's when Jim walked in.

Jim had retired first on McCoy's orders. Just as one doesn't thank logic, one doesn't ignore the CMO's orders without suffering the consequences. Spock returned to his own room later. He had been prescribed sleep, and had gone without argument. Vulcan's fires had drained them all.

The _Enterprise_ was cool and crisp. Such a stark contrast from Vulcan's surface. The Doctor was glad to be home free. He was a man of simple needs, and the comfort of the ship met most of them day to day. There was community, there was safety, and heck there was even pecan pie some days. And he never felt more at home than during times like this. Both Jim and Spock were safe. The ship was fine. All was right in the world.

He spun the emptied glass of brandy in his hand and considered turning in. This report wasn't going to write itself, but he felt like he deserved some shut-eye just as much as Jim and Spock. McCoy was about to act on his plan when his computer beeped.

" _This is Lieutenant Uhura. Doctor McCoy, you have a call from Vulcan. It's a private line. Would you like to take it here, or in your quarters?"_

Huh. "Here is fine, thank you." Now, who could that be?

He almost didn't recognize her. The old bat was severe as ever, minus all the ceremonial accoutrements that made her look so high and mighty. Still, T'Pau of Vulcan had her eyes trained on him from the moment the connection cleared. Those eyes drove a straight pin through his chest and fixed him to his chair. McCoy couldn't move so much as an inch under the intensity of the old woman's gaze.

"Doctor. He lives."

He didn't need to ask who she meant. "Yes ma'am." No point in denying it. He wasn't getting points for out-foxing the old woman.

"Thou hast taken too many liberties. Would thee disrespect thousands of years of tradition so?"

He was still stuck, but McCoy's hand tightened around his armrest. "I dunno. I saved two lives, didn't I?" Wouldn't do to be rude, but McCoy was worn down. He'd had enough. "I don't know what tenants the Vulcans live by, but I swore an oath. 'Do no harm'."

"We do not celebrate the plak-tow, Doctor. We see it for what it is, and proceed as our ancestors did."

He crossed his arms. McCoy wasn't one to bash tradition, but he remembered all too well the blood on the sand, the way the weapons brought each of his dearest friends in the universe to their knees. To hurt each other like that… Had he not been desperately seeking a way to make them stop, he might not have been able to bear it.

"I'm not passing judgment on the Vulcan people, ma'am." It was true, even if it sounded timid to his own ears. He didn't have near enough cultural context. Perhaps marriages were contested seldom to never. McCoy simply didn't know. "I do know that my best friends in the world almost died for nothing. I don't believe marriage was more important to Spock than the life of his friend."

Something in T'Pau's manner changed. "He did not believe so." McCoy felt the pin being dragged back. "T'Pring does not desire him. She had no designs on either man, only her own ambitions."

The spear came out and he was released. The tension in McCoy's shoulders slackened. T'Pring didn't want this either. T'Pau was agreeing with him.

"Perhaps she should've been consulted. It seems an awful waste to me, to a human I suppose. But an awful waste all the same for someone to have to die to call off an engagement."

T'Pau inclined her head. "There is truth in thy speech, Doctor. I thank thee for this observation, and the chance to study what none of our people considered to be a flaw."

He nodded back. "I'm not sorry to have deceived you, but I do wish things had turned out differently."

"Indeed." T'Pau adopted another expression entirely. The subtlety of Vulcans never ceased to confuse… "As far as possible, do not kill'. Why despite our logic we have abandoned this teaching, I could not explain. Thou hast brought much more to light than I had considered."

Could be high praise, coming from her. McCoy was going to nod. Most of his bravado had been spent trying to argue logic with the lady, but now his palms grew moist. This would be the time for her to do him in. He alone was responsible for the deception. Spock was in the throes of the blood fever, and Jim was fading fast. McCoy knew the contents of the hypo. No one else. He sensed the blade rise. It was poised just over his heart.

"My thanks, Doctor McCoy." T'Pau held up her hand in that odd salute. He'd never get the hang of it as long as he lived. "Live long and prosper."

McCoy looked very grave when he nodded back at her. "Live long and prosper, ma'am."

He'd clean this glass sometime later. Not a word of this conversation would leave his office. It would rest squarely on his shoulders. For as long as they could rest peacefully in their beds, McCoy would fight or die to ensure that they could. Spock might never forgive himself for what he'd almost done, but that bridge hadn't been burned. Jim was alive. The Doctor would fight to his own dying breath to make sure his friends saw theirs in peace. In safety. He'd said it in his mind out on the sands, like he'd said many a time before when faced with death: _Not today. While I still breathe, not today._

 

* * *

 

_All Our Yesterdays: Spock_

__

Could logic be cruel?

He thought of it now, but he had not been thinking of it then. Logic had been the furthest thing from his thoughts and he regretted the pain it had caused in the extreme. _Desperation_. It seemed everyone had their reason for it. Indeed, things had become truly desperate.

Spock remembered his grip on the Doctor's throat, tightening even as McCoy grabbed him to shake him out of it. Had he truly meant to end his friend's life there in the cave? Astounding. But more astounding still was the Doctor's rationale, his- dare Spock admit- his logic. McCoy's life was with the ship. _With Jim_ , part of his mind added, _as is yours._ Spock had been wrong. McCoy had been right.

It was remarkable. Spock did not think that, in the future, he could possibly ridicule the Doctor's reasoning as he had in the past. In jest, he could remark on McCoy's reliance on emotion in his mental processes, but never again his logic. Despite his condition, despite the injuries to his person, despite the utter lack of available information, McCoy had solved it. He had reasoned out the cause of Spock's behavior, and the likelihood of Zarabeth's deception. It was only logical. Never again could Spock dismiss this mind in earnest.

With some guilt he remembered the weave in McCoy's step as the Doctor had gone out alone. Just as Zarabeth would do anything to make him stay, McCoy would do anything for the chance to leave. He would brave the elements that had nearly killed him not hours before. Now it seemed he would do it or die trying.

And what had Spock said himself before, when McCoy entreated him to live by the same sacrifice? _We go together, or not at all!_

So they must. So they did.

His mental barriers returned to their full strength the moment he passed through the portal. That did not lessen the emotions he had felt what seemed like moments before. The wounds received still here; the pain remained. But buried deep was the lasting remorse; the lingering guilt was not to surface. He could not- would not- return to that state. Willing or no, he would not visit it. It was the past, as he said. Gone, gone, gone. And he was Vulcan. Vulcan- in control. It had been five thousand years ago.

Yet the thought dwelled, and that told a different tale than the one he was telling himself. Logic seemed very cruel indeed.

Spock was dimly aware of the excitement onboard the _Enterprise_ as they sped away from the doomed system. It was only ship's afternoon. Not all the crew had been burdened so by time.

McCoy all but clung to the wall as the three of them stepped off the transporter pad. Spock noted the effort in Jim's breathing. Had he alone escaped a physical toll?

"We should proceed to Sickbay at once to determine the effects of the time portal." Spock included himself so he would not arouse their suspicion. True, there may be some effect from the portal itself, but it was unlikely. He was far more concerned with damage incurred as an indirect effect.

Jim nodded. It looked as if he wished to return to the Bridge, but Spock wouldn't allow it. "After you, Captain." To 'prevaricate around the bush' as Doctor McCoy so… eloquently put it, might deceive them sufficiently. Spock brought up the rear to keep them from escaping. If McCoy was the worst patient onboard the _Enterprise,_ Jim was the second worst. It may even be a tie.

Nurse Chapel was as attentive and intuitive as they came. She seemed to be waiting for them. After a spilt-second's assessment, she bundled Doctor McCoy into a biobed and coerced Jim to do the same.

"And you, Mister, Spock, what seems to be your problem?" She had paused between summoning equipment for McCoy's frostbite and Jim's bruises. Sickbay was abuzz. Spock was a pillar in the sea.

"I'm not experiencing any ill-effects from the time portal, Nurse. I will however require an extended period of meditation. In the mental capacity, I was under considerable strain." It was not a lie. He would not get away with a lie to Nurse Chapel's face. Spock learned long ago that full concealment would get him nowhere in this Sickbay. If he admitted defeat in one respect, she would have less reason to mistrust his sincerity. Spock was as sincere as he was able. Physically, there was no damage.

He must meditate soon. Yet Spock remained in the Sickbay to oversee his friends' treatment. 'Oversee' might be too strong a description. He watched as Nurse Chapel did her job with the utmost skill.

Jim was scanned and bandaged. Chapel gave him a hypospray as a preventative. There was no way to know what kinds of diseases Jim may have been exposed to on Sarpeidon's surface. He gave an account of a dungeon, a brawl, and several scrapes with death. It seemed as if he had met with much more excitement. McCoy was scanned and fussed over briefly before he was whisked away.

Spock made his way to his Captain's bedside. Jim seemed to be struggling with his eyelids, but became more alert when Spock appeared in his field of vision.

"So, you two had a rough time of it?" Jim most likely referred to McCoy. Spock found that the question applied to himself as well.

"It was a difficult environment to adapt to. I had much less difficulty than Doctor McCoy, who was particularly affected by the weather conditions. We were fortunate to find help from another temporally-displaced individual."

"Oh?" Jim blinked with some effort. "Were they nicer to you than the ones I found? What was the whole thing like?"

Spock pushed back the memories that bubbled to the surface. He would not be consumed by them. Jim was drifting off. This could be avoided.

"You should rest, Jim. I would prefer not to discuss it at this time." It was as gentle a delivery as he would allow. His Captain's eyes closed and the biobed read off all the benchmarks of human sleep.

McCoy was returned sometime later, swaddled in bandages and succumbing to the exhaustion he had tried so hard to hide. There were quite a few beads of sweat on the Doctor's brow. One memory sprang from the steel trap, the ease with which he had thrown McCoy around, but Spock shoved it back down.

But now that he was here, he was forced to acknowledge an observation. When he had lost control for the last time in that cave, he had sensed a confusing mix of emotions from McCoy. There was no fear as he had expected, but concern, anger, and that same desperation. He had not seemed surprised at the attack. There had been an odd sort of resignation on the one hand, and on the other a refusal to accept it as the final outcome of the encounter. Almost more than his desire to return McCoy had wanted Spock to snap out of it and return with him. He would risk death for that.

This wasn't a revelation, only a firm reassurance. His decision had been logical in the end. Spock had gone and consequently saved his friends' lives. This was true, as he was sure Jim would not have left without them. And it did not seem logical, but that same stubborn loyalty might have delayed Mister Scott a moment too long-

McCoy rolled over and sighed in his sleep. He did not look pleased, even in slumber. This gave Spock no amusement. He had only added to the Doctor's suffering in his indifference. Spock pursed his lips as he remembered shoving McCoy into the rock face-first.

Jim began to snore. In fact, the both of them appeared to be in deep sleep. It was a relief. By all signs they would recover. What could have been did not matter. He was here. They were all here. Now, he could live with his decision. It had been five thousand years. Nothing he did now would change any of it, but what he had done succeeded in securing their present and perhaps their futures.

A weight lifted from Spock's shoulders. He knew he was not responsible for his drastic change in behavior, but it was reassuring to know that he had mastered himself soon enough to save them. All besides Zarabeth, he had saved. Spock supposed he must come to terms with his feelings in that respect. Meditation would help accomplish this.

He left his friends in Nurse Chapel's capable hands. When he returned, all would be resolved.


End file.
